


untld.

by miramiro



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Healing, Heartbreak, Hopeful Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Japanese Rope Bondage, M/M, Qian Kun-centric, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, hints of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miramiro/pseuds/miramiro
Summary: On a journey to cope with his heartbreak, Kun leaves a trail of broken hearts in his wake.02: a vivid montage (Yuta/Kun)
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun, Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Qian Kun, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Qian Kun, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Qian Kun, Lee Taeyong/Qian Kun, Moon Taeil/Qian Kun, Nakamoto Yuta/Qian Kun, Qian Kun/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Suh Youngho | Johnny/Qian Kun
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	1. a lone cigarette

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be updated based on every chapter.  
> Please heed them and have a safe read.

“You—Kun—you can’t—” Sicheng’s voice wobbles, his eyes brimming with tears. He inhales shakily. He’s going to cry; Kun knows Sicheng is going to cry and wants to cry himself. But there are no tears in his eyes.

“Sicheng…” Kun says, hoping, wishing, praying his voice sounding flat and colourless is a trick his mind is playing on him. Surely, he isn’t speaking so coldly? “I’m sor—”

“No!” Sicheng cuts him off, loudly, fiercely, a deluge of tears wetting his cheeks, dripping down his chin. “No…” he trails off in a whisper. “You can’t do this… Don’t you dare apologize.”

“Sicheng, please, please understand, I didn’t—” Wounded, selfishly in need of comfort, Kun crawls over to where Sicheng had backed away from him. Sicheng stands up on legs about to buckle under the weight of his hurt.

“I know you’re hurting, Kun, but you—you can’t do this to me,” Sicheng whispers, choked, but it hits Kun’s ears like the most heart-wrenching wail. “You have no right, Kun. No right,” he adds, firmly, sadly. “I’m—I’m gonna go—” Sicheng states, darting to the door.

“Please, Sicheng, don’t leave me alone right now,” Kun’s voice cracks. He feels almost relieved to sound as much in turmoil as he feels—he is so selfish.

“Kun…” Sicheng rushes over, just like Kun hoped he would. Wipes his tears, cradles his cheeks gently, and Kun nearly starts weeping with contentment—except Sicheng moves away from him just as swiftly as he came to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “Kun, I’m sorry, but I—” Sicheng moves to the door. Pulls it open. “I need to clear my head, maybe live with this for a while longer, I—I’ll be back. I swear I’m not leaving you, Kun—I can’t. Just, please, I—” Sicheng swallows, once, twice, Adam’s apple bobbing with a fresh rush of emotion. He leaves. Doesn’t close the door.

Kun can only stare at the space Sicheng had occupied moments ago; it’s like there’s a Sicheng-shaped depression visible. The air feels thick and suffocating. It takes effort to stand up, but Kun does it, drags himself over to the door to shut it. 

Tottering over to the refrigerator, Kun opens the door and revels in the feeling of the cool air hitting his overheated face like a multitude of pinpricks. He pulls out an over-chilled, half-full bottle of water, and chugs it down. The water goes down his throat like chunks of ice, hurting it. Kun doesn’t care.

Thirst quenched, Kun turns and faces the open door to his balcony. Thinks about hurling himself over the balustrade, down 11 floors onto the cold, hard, snow-covered ground. Would the snow break his fall? Cushion him? Or would it kill him and work as an ice-box to preserve his body? Kun doesn’t want to find out.

He walks to his room, shrouded in darkness, and slumps onto the bed—meant for two, holding one—willing temporary death to take over his body, and wishing he won’t fall asleep for eternity.

  
  
  


` _The sweet, pungent smell of the cigarette you smoked in bed two weeks ago lingers even now, clinging to the pillow-cover. Can you believe it? It’s been two weeks and I haven’t changed the linens. Not that I didn’t want to, the thought of changing them simply never came to mind. I can’t seem to recollect my daily routine since you left me; the motions that had become muscle memory over the years we lived together seem alien now._ `

`_The acuteness of loss is felt not in the emptiness of a space that should have been occupied, but in all that has been left behind._`

`_I’m what’s left behind, along with the faint traces of your cigarette smoke. Oh, and your packet of cigarettes with the one lone cigarette remaining. Did you do that on purpose? Leave a cigarette behind that would never touch the lips of the one it was intended for—as if it were a symbol of this limbo state I find myself in? I wish you’d answer; I have so many questions._`

`_Were you planning to leave me when you said I was lucky to have Sicheng in my life, for he’d be there for me even and especially when you might not be? Where are you? Why did you leave me? Would you come back if I told you I kissed Sicheng?_`

`_I did. Kiss Sicheng, that is—I mean, I tried to._`

` _He didn’t kiss me back._`

` _I knew he wouldn’t. He loves me too much._`

`_I think he'll always love me too much—more than I could ever love him, much more than I deserve to be loved by him. But it hurts me more than it hurts him. You knew that, didn’t you? Even when I didn’t talk about it—you knew._`

` _Sicheng knows, too. He’ll love me even though I selfishly took advantage of his feelings for me, and he’ll love me despite wondering whether I believed he’d take advantage of my heartbreak and make an advance on me. I don’t want him to._`

`_I can’t do this to Sicheng anymore. You left me thinking I’d be happier with him, didn’t you? I won’t. I’ll just make him hate me; I can’t let that happen. I have to go. Away. Like you did._`

` _I hope Sicheng can forgive me._ `


	2. a vivid montage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the updated tags and have a safe read.

“I forgive you, Kun…” Sicheng’s voice sounds hollow, but he’s there—he’s there for Kun, a steady and reliable presence over the phone. Kun releases a shaky breath he didn’t even know he was holding in since he picked up Sicheng’s call.

“You shouldn’t,” Kun states softly.

“I know, but I do,” Sicheng sighs. He says it like a fact, like it’s the natural thing to do, and not something he’s doing out of the helplessness that comes with habit.

“You don’t deserve any of this, Sicheng,” Kun’s voice is going to crack. His eyes are already stinging and he can’t blame the chilly wind caressing his face like shards of ice for it. “I’m sorry for putting you through—through—” Kun cuts himself off. What is he saying? Apologizing for _not_ falling in love with Sicheng? That’s an insult both to Sicheng and himself.

Sicheng is silent for a long moment, and Kun wonders whether he cut the call—perhaps a way of severing all of his ties to Kun—but he doesn’t dare to pull his phone away from his ear to check. 

“Are you coming back?” Sicheng exhales, suddenly, sharply, rightfully accusing Kun of all the wrongs he has done and is about to do.

“I don’t know,” Kun manages to answer. He realizes his cheeks are damp when a couple teardrops straggle down to his chin with the movement of his mouth. His eyes feel like they have been pinned open and he cannot close them to try and hide from the harsh truth—

“Promise me you won’t wait for me.” Kun’s voice sounds alien to his ears as he says it. So calm. He wonders about the hidden depths of his soul. Wonders whether he has one in the first place. There’s no existence without a soul, right? But what even is a soul? What if he doesn’t have one? The only way to find out is to die—and yet, how would he know once he is dead? What a conundrum.

“Kun—” Sicheng begins, ready to argue, his voice cutting through Kun’s thoughts like an arrow hitting bullseye.

“Sicheng, please?” Kun pleads. He’ll cry if that’ll make Sicheng listen to him—he’d do anything and everything, except give Sicheng what he has quietly, desperately longed for since he first met Kun in University.

“I won’t…” Sicheng trails off, helpless in the face of Kun’s unwavering resolve and his own unrequited love.

“Promise?” Kun insists.

“I promise,” Sicheng agrees, voice falling into a whisper. Kun can sense he is holding back tears.

“Thank you,” Kun breathes into the phone, lips against the screen. “Take care.”

“Mm,” he gets in reply. Sicheng is going to sob—as soon as the call is cut, Sicheng is going to sob—and there’s nothing Kun can do about it other than to let his best friend take his time to let it out and let go. Heal. Meanwhile, Kun has his own letting-go to do.

Kun cuts the call, knowing Sicheng would not do it himself. He takes a moment to himself. Inhales a shuddering breath and exhales long and quiet into the night, letting the winds carry his feelings away. Abruptly, he turns and trudges back into Nakamoto’s from where he had rushed out of within a second of his phone buzzing with Sicheng’s incoming call. 

  
  


Inside, Shotaro is at the reception, carefully putting his notebooks, textbooks, and sketchbook into his bag. He looks up when Kun steps inside and waves at him. Kun feels a layer of sadness dissipate as he takes in Shotaro’s welcoming smile, the innocence reflected in its sheer brightness.

In hesitant Japanese, Kun asks Shotaro about whether he is done with his part-time shift. Shotaro smiles even wider as he nods. Kun wants to bask in the warmth the boy radiates. Suddenly, he lights up and unzips his bag, and pulls out his sketchbook, rapidly flipping open to a page. He displays it to Kun with pride tinged with shyness.

Shotaro has drawn a minimalist bear. It’s inspired by Kun, he tells him, because Kun looks cute and strong like a bear. Kun nearly begins sobbing. He praises him in Mandarin, before switching to Japanese that barely provides a gist of what Kun wants to tell Shotaro, but he ends it with a heartfelt thank you. Shotaro beams at him. 

Kun has only met the boy thrice so far, but he is hit with a wave of affection for him, mixed with a fierce desire to protect the boy’s innocence. Before he can lose himself in his thoughts, Shotaro tells him that Yuta is waiting for him inside, and skips out of the studio after yelling out a goodbye to both Kun and Yuta. 

Unable to help the fond smile etched onto his face, Kun slips inside Yuta’s room. Yuta doesn’t notice him immediately, standing with his back towards Kun, pulling his hair up into a ponytail as he hums to a Miyavi song softly playing on his music system. Kun is entranced by the way Yuta’s hands work, deftly, gracefully.

“Oh, you’re back?” Yuta asks, in Mandarin, giving a final tug to his ponytail and then facing Kun, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

Kun presses himself back into the door, then propels himself forward. “Yeah, sorry I took so long. I had to take that call.” He seats himself on the reclining chair.

“Mm,” Yuta hums, agreeing. “I guessed it was an important call.” He snaps on a fresh pair of gloves and walks over to Kun, reclines his chair further. Kun’s world tilts. Yuta’s face fills his vision. 

“Girlfriend?” Yuta asks. Kun blinks. “Boyfriend, or significant other?” Yuta adds, voice deliberately flat.

Oh. Kun understands he is referring to the phone call. “Best friend,” he replies. 

“Even better,” Yuta smiles. Kun feels it hit him in his wounded heart, undoing the healing Shotaro’s smile had done. It’s amazing, Kun thinks, how devastating a smile can be.

“You don’t look too happy, though,” Yuta questions, fingertips gently touching Kun’s cheek, urging him to turn his head to the right so Yuta can take a look at the now-healed left earlobe piercing.

“It’s…” Kun trails off, unsure how to answer, brain too focused on the heat of Yuta’s fingertips through the latex.

“Complicated?” Yuta tacks on. He lets go of Kun’s ear, satisfied with what he saw, unaware of how Kun’s ear tingles with the phantom touch lingering.

Kun smiles a wry, dimpled smile at him, before he turns his head to the other side, to let Yuta inspect the fresh upper lobe piercing he got a few days ago. It’s healing properly, Kun knows. Yuta is proficient at his job.

He feels a pang when Yuta moves away, but he doesn’t sit up. He knows Yuta will be back in his space soon enough.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Yuta starts. Pauses to gauge Kun’s reaction. Then continues, “What are you doing here?”

Kun raises an eyebrow playfully. “You know why.”

Yuta chuckles. “No, I mean, you can’t have come all the way to Osaka just to get your ears pierced.”

“I didn’t.”

“So, are you a tourist on holiday? You don’t seem like one.”

“I’m not.”

Yuta assesses him carefully. “I understand if you don’t wish to tell me.”

“No, I—” Kun pipes up, wanting to assure Yuta that he is not trying to be cagey. He just— “Don’t know…”

“What?”

“I mean, I don’t know…. Why I’m here,” Kun says softly, not meeting eyes with Yuta. “I’m calling it research, for—for a novel I will write. Someday.”

“Hm, interesting. And what have you discovered so far?” Yuta asks, saving Kun from the embarrassment of mentally going over the nonsense he just spewed.

“Getting a piercing is somehow both less and more painful than I thought it would be.”

Yuta laughs, and Kun feels pride bubbling in his chest. He did this. He made Yuta laugh.

“So you came here today to get more?” Yuta asks, eyes shining with mirth and something else, something exciting.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I wanted to see you; perhaps I wanted _more_ ,” Kun says, light and slinky. 

Yuta is silent for a long moment, and Kun wonders whether Yuta took offence to his subpar effort to flirt, or to the very idea of Kun making a subpar effort to flirt. Before Kun can drive himself into a frenzy and bolt from the room, and try to erase the experience from his mind with alcohol, Yuta steps closer. 

Kun forgets how to breathe as Yuta reaches for his face, and then pauses. Kun feels disappointment churn in his gut once again, but Yuta only pulls the gloves off of his hands and tosses them onto the counter, and then his fingertips are ghosting over Kun’s skin, tracing a ticklish path from Kun’s neck to his jaw. 

“Your face… it’s a beautiful canvas,” Yuta murmurs. “Simply thinking about all the places I could give you a piercing… ” Yuta cups Kun’s jaw, presses his thumb gently onto his chin. “Like here.” He runs a fingertip slowly up to his dimple and traces the depression. “Or even here.” Yuta then spreads his fingers and cups Kun’s cheek, brushes his thumb under Kun’s eye, and taps the swell of his cheek. “Here.” He moves his hand further up to trace Kun’s eyebrow against the direction of the hair. “Here.” 

Kun holds back a full-body shiver at Yuta’s ministrations. Yuta’s touch is warm and gentle as he continues mapping half of Kun’s face, a fingertip running down the slope of Kun’s nose. “And here,” Yuta adds, voice falling into a harsh whisper, even as his fingertip moves down to Kun’s philtrum, down his upper lip, and stops at the lower lip. “And _especially_ here…” Yuta whispers, voice sounding ephemeral to Kun’s ears. 

Closing his eyes, Kun parts his lips a hint. His tongue darts out, wets the tip of Yuta’s index finger, enjoying the pressure it is applying to his lower lip. 

“Kun…” Yuta breathes. Kun opens his eyes. All he can see is Yuta: Yuta and the tendrils of hair escaping his ponytail and framing his face prettily, Yuta and the sultry trepidation in his hooded eyes, Yuta and his waiting, expectant lips, coming closer and closer, until they are hovering over Kun's. Kun meets his eyes, makes sure Yuta is looking at him as he looks at Yuta's lips, and back up at Yuta, and then kisses him. Eyes closed, Kun basks in the wet softness of Yuta's lips and the warmth of Yuta's palm as it caresses the soft wetness of Kun's cheek.

  
  
  


`_We kissed like it was our last kiss. Desperately, deliriously. Every single time._`

`_Kissing Yuta made me realize there are consequences to being left behind that nobody tells you about: hungering for a touch you will never feel running across your body again, thirsting for a pair of lips you will never feel against yours again—it is a different sort of physical ache: phantom, but real. I hadn’t been touched, I hadn’t been held, I hadn’t been kissed in five weeks. I hadn’t been cherished. Sicheng could only do so much; Yuta did so much more._`

`_Do you know? I hadn’t even thought about kissing another man five weeks ago, for every single day of the five years I had you, and you had me. I wonder, where do desires come from—do they materialize out of thin air, become corporeal, or do they lie dormant, like candles waiting to be lit? Would you then call me loyal, or a fool who could not see the truth?_`

`_This is what I was thinking about as I kissed Yuta; wondering, wondering, wondering what you would think of me, and what it was you thought of me that prompted you to leave me. And then Yuta with his princely looks and princely manners gently wiped away tears I hadn't even realized my eyes had shed._`

`_Every single day without you, I have wanted to cry, and I have not. Every single day, the hollow inside me deepens and widens, threatening to consume me whole. It’s like you opened a chasm of nothingness. Sicheng filled it up somewhat, a little when he left me, a little more when I left him—and a lot during our phone call tonight. But Yuta—Yuta, Yuta, Yuta—one touch and I was brimming, one kiss and I was overflowing._`

`_I choose to overflow than be empty, to feel overwhelmed with sensations than nothing at all._`

`_I choose Yuta._`

  
  
  


Yuta’s gaze alone is as warm and enveloping as his naked body, and Kun revels in it. Chest heaving, Kun closes his eyes and lets his vision swim, psychedelic and addictive. Yuta waits for him to come down from his orgasmic high, knowing Kun doesn’t like physical touch tainting the purity of the sensations.

Kun opens his eyes to Yuta’s small, quiet smile, no less dazzling than his trademark wide grin. Yuta immediately covers Kun’s body with his own and helps Kun sit up on his knees from where he had toppled backward onto the bed with the force of his orgasm. Kun puckers his lips slightly for a kiss, and Yuta readily indulges him. His hands gently travel across Kun’s body, following the silk rope, as if recreating the intricate ropework with which he has artfully bound Kun.

“Slow,” Kun tells him, lips moving against Yuta’s mouth. Yuta knows. Kun knows, too, but he says it anyway. Yuta presses his forehead against Kun’s, lingering in the moment before he unravels all the knots that bind Kun, even as he binds himself to Kun tighter with every breath they share.

Kun kisses Yuta again once the ropes are off of his body and his hands and legs have regained their movement. He spends a long while basking in the warmth of Yuta’s embrace as they kiss, then pulls away to press his lips feather-light to each tiny tattoo methodically inked on to Yuta’s torso.

Yuta sighs blissfully as Kun leaves a trail of kisses down to his abdomen, and then wraps his palm around Yuta’s hard cock and presses his tongue to the slit. Yuta hisses. Kun’s lips curl up smugly before he takes Yuta in his mouth and makes Yuta see constellations.

After, Kun crawls up Yuta’s body to kiss him once before falling onto his side and burying his face into the sheets, arms trapped underneath his body. Yuta glances at him and ends up gazing for a long moment.

“Hey, Kun?” Yuta asks, voice tinged with hesitation.

“Mhm?” Kun answers, unintelligible.

“You know how I play guitar for a band at this club sometimes…” Yuta trails off.

“Hm?”

“So, I’m playing there tonight. And I—I asked for a solo. I have a special song in mind.”

Kun does not answer. Yuta wonders if he has fallen asleep already. He shifts closer.

“Kun?” he ventures.

“Sorry,” Kun answers, muffled, as he drags his face to the side to look at Yuta. He smiles a sleepy smile at Yuta and Yuta smiles at Kun’s antics. 

He inches closer and bumps his nose against Kun’s, making him giggle. “Cute,” he says.

Kun smiles a teasing smile at Yuta. “Is that what you were getting at?”

“No,” Yuta sobers up. “The song. It’s for you. I want to sing it for you—sing it to you…”

Kun’s eyes soften, the mirth dissolving into tenderness. 

“So. You’ll come? To see me play?” Yuta asks, sounding unusually nervous to Kun’s ears. So Kun smiles at him. “Of course, Yuta. Yes,” he says tenderly, his heart skipping a beat.

Nervousness dissipating, Yuta grins at Kun, bright and dazzling, and drops a kiss on his forehead. It makes Kun blush fiercely and turn his head away to hide it. Chuckling knowingly, Yuta presses his lips to the nape of Kun’s neck and stays there as they both fall asleep.

  
  
  


`_I dreamed about Yuta._`

`_It was a strange dream, playing out like a vivid montage. Like the one in your student film from University—that moody drama about star-crossed lovers that ended with that montage of how happy their intertwined life could have been had fate not pulled them apart—yeah, the one I called “self-indulgent”._`

`_Yuta’s hands—Yuta’s kind, gentle, strong, clever hands—are so beautiful. Beautiful to look at, beautiful to touch, making me feel beautiful with their touch. I dreamed about them._`

`_Yuta’s hands deftly pulling his hair up into a ponytail, Yuta’s hands gently tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. Yuta’s hands sketching tattoo designs on his iPad rapidly, Yuta’s hands etching patterns onto my bare body, slowly and steadily. Yuta’s hands playing the strings of an electronic guitar, Yuta’s hands winding the rope around my body, knot by knot. Yuta’s hands cupping Shotaro’s cheeks, Shotaro’s eyes lighting up with joy, Yuta’s hands around my throat, the light going out of my eyes._`

`_That woke me up. Suddenly, Yuta’s loose embrace felt suffocating. Suddenly, his warmth was an inferno burning me to my core, through skin and bones. Suddenly, I broke free from ropes that were invisible even to me._`

`_I wonder why I’d told Yuta I’d always wanted to try rope bondage when I’d never given a single thought to it during my life with you. Was it because I was intrigued by the idea of feeling like I had no control despite having all the control, or was it because I wanted to feel like control had been taken away from me? Was it because I enjoyed the experience of being bound during sex, or was it because I never wanted to experience the guilt of willingly having sex with another man? I wish I knew._`

`_Tonight, Yuta will look for me in the club, hope in his eyes, the song he wants to sing for me waiting on his lips. Tonight, I will be on an airplane to who-knows-where, re-watching your student film and sobbing over the inherent cruelty of fate._`

`_Perhaps I shall be self-indulgent._`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The song Yuta wanted to sing for Kun.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwC7u-XdpLM)
> 
> Do share your thoughts with me.
> 
> My [twt](https://mobile.twitter.com/gummieistrying); my [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/gummieistrying).

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I intended to post this as a whole instead of in chapters, but I figured it might be too much for me to take not only as a writer, but also keeping in mind that I'd rather not subject my readers to bleakness after bleakness without a break.
> 
> I am writing this because—honestly, I need to. This is me reaffirming to myself that I can write, and I can write well (as long as I enjoy writing what I'm writing). Not that my lighter work is lesser in any sense to angst—not that lighter work in general is anything lesser than angst, or anything with heavy themes, or that which is dark, and so on. This is me getting out of a mental rut, so to say.
> 
> Do share your thoughts with me.
> 
> My [twt](https://mobile.twitter.com/gummieistrying); my [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/gummieistrying).


End file.
